


Talk Less, Smile More

by Too_many_fandoms007



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Death, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everyone Needs A Hug, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Feminist Themes, Flashbacks, Foster Care, Gay John Laurens, George Washington is a Dad, Guilt, Help, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Nonbinary Marquis de Lafayette, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Racist Language, Self-Harm, Sexism, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Tags May Change, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Trauma, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 00:50:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16587563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_many_fandoms007/pseuds/Too_many_fandoms007
Summary: Talk less, smile more. That was the mantra of Aaron Burr. Those four words were what he lived by. As long as he followed those four words, then he would be safe. If he didn't talk as much, people wouldn't get annoyed by his opinions. If he smiled more, than people would be less likely to be upset with him. If he just kept smiling, then nobody could see the pain he held inside. Nobody could see the fiery, loud-mouthed, opinionated asshole that he once was. Nobody could see the scared, lonely, broken little boy he'd become.*******ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE*****





	1. Aaron Burr, Sir

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. So, this is my first story, so please be nice. Anyway, as you could probably tell from the tags, this fic is gonna be pretty angsty. I'm literally writing this instead of sleeping, so... Anyway, here are all the trigger warnings, and if I'm missing any, please tell me. Oh, and stay safe guys. Get help if you need it. 
> 
> Tw's:  
> \- Suicidal Thoughts  
> \- Self-Harm  
> \- Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder (PTSD)  
> \- Depression  
> \- Anxiety  
> \- Anxiety Attacks  
> \- Panic Attacks  
> \- Abuse  
> \- Child Abuse  
> \- Physical Abuse  
> \- Emotional/Psychological Abuse  
> \- Starvation  
> \- Swearing/Vulgar Language  
> \- Racist Slurs  
> \- Homophobia  
> \- Internalized Homophobia  
> \- Non-con touching  
> \- Past Rape/Non-con  
> \- References/threats to rape/non-con  
> \- Sexism  
> \- Homophobic language  
> \- Mental health issues in general (both addressed and unaddressed)  
> \- Verbal Abuse  
> \- Alcohol Abuse
> 
>  
> 
> Yep... Told ya this fic was angsty... Welp this is getting long so Imma end it now. Um..enjoy.

Talk less, smile more. Don't let them know what you're against or what you're for.

These were the words that Aaron lived by. These were the words that he'd repeat to himself whenever he got mad, or scared, or upset. These were the words that would stop him from getting into fights, getting into arguments, getting into trouble. These were the words that he told himself after stumbling, bloodied and bruised, out of his fifth foster home. These were the words he told himself when he saw the other foster kids get beat. These were the words he thought spitefully as he got hit repeatedly for talking back. These fifteen words were his life, his set of rules, guidelines, his moral code. 

If you talked less than you didn't upset people. If you talked less you didn't get yelled at or hit. You didn't get starved or beat or locked in the broom closet for weeks without food. If you talked less than you couldn't slip-up, say the wrong thing, let your guard down, tell the wrong person what really went on when you went home every night. If you talked less than people didn't ask unwanted questions, you didn't get unwanted attention, and that made hiding the bruises just a bit easier.

Smile more. Oh, the power of a smile. A carefully crafted smile could fool the world's greatest detective. Behind a smile, you could hide anything. Unhappiness, lies, betrayal, bruises, cries, and pleas for help, even the darkest and most twisted secrets could be hidden by a smile. And boy did Aaron have secrets. He may not have much, but he would never run out of secrets. 

Secrets and lies.

That's all it ever was. 

"I'm fine. I'm good. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't need help. I do see a therapist. I love you." All lies.

Looking back on it, lies were the only constant in his life. They told him his parents would come back, that it wasn't his fault that they died. They told him that he would be adopted one day. They told him that this foster family was different, that these people were good people. All lies. 

Lies and secrets. 

Secrets and lies. 

They go hand in hand, those two. Behind every good lie is a secret, and in front of every secret is a lie. 

Talk less, smile more. Don't let them know what you're against or what you're for. 

If people know your opinion, your stance, then they had leverage. They had something to pin you to. They had information about you that you never consented to them knowing. Every proclamation guarantees free ammunition for your enemies. 

Every time you open your mouth, someone is watching. Someone is waiting. Every opinion, every argument, is something that will be used against you later on in life. 

Police always say, "Everything you say can and will be used against you." Aaron's not sure if he's ever heard a truer statement than that. 

So he talked less. Speak only when spoken to. It's better to be silent than to say something you'll regret later. He smiled more. People like it when you smile. It reminds them of the good in the world, it tells them that you're happy, and most people will think that they've somehow helped cause that happiness, which will make them feel happy too. And if people are happy they're less likely to hit. 

And when people asked his opinion on things, he would redirect the conversation so that they would end up sharing their opinion instead. Because people didn't like people with opinions. At least not in Aaron's experience. 

Talk less. Smile more. Don't let them know what you're against or what you're for. 

These were the words he repeated to himself as he left his fifth foster house, and his sixth, and his seventh. These were the words he repeated to himself when he watched little Logan get beat to a bloody pulp for asking for food. These were the words he repeated to himself as he watched Logan get lowered into the ground. And these were the words he now repeated to himself as he was being driven to his new foster house, hoping to God that it'd be his last.


	2. Why Do You Always Say What You Believe?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I bet all ya'll thought it would be Hamilton's P.O.V. with that reference of a chapter title. No! Ha! Gotcha! Okay... Um.. I apologize for the craziness, I am dead tired. Anyway... In this chapter, we'll get to see more of Aaron's past, and he'll finally arrive at that foster home. Who's is it? Anybody have a guess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. I'm back. So apparently my impatient ass couldn't wait long enough to have a sorta schedule, so... Here you go. This chapter is longer than the first. And it's still Aaron's P.O.V. Trigger warnings are at the beginning of the first chapter, it's just in general. I'll try to put the trigger warnings for the chapter at the beginning, but I might forget so I apologize in advance for that. 
> 
> TW's:  
> \- Abuse  
> \- Child Abuse  
> \- Implied/Referenced Child Abuse  
> \- Physical Abuse  
> \- Verbal Abuse  
> \- Flashbacks  
> \- Anxiety  
> \- Swearing/Vulgar Language(Guys this one is gonna hold throughout like all the chapters, so if you don't like it, don't read it)

Staring out the window of the cheap social services car that Aaron had been in about a dozen times, his mind started to drift to what had gotten him in this situation in the first place. 

It all started when his parents died from a car crash with a drunk driver. Even though it was years ago, he still remembered that day like it was today. He remembered the call during the early hours of the morning, the person on the phone sounding like they were feeling extremely guilty as they softly explained that his parents were dead. He remembers dropping the phone at that statement, blankly staring at the wall in disbelief and shock. He remembers faintly hearing the person on the phone continue talking, saying something about social services and that they did everything they could, but he wasn't listening. All he could think at the moment was, "Oh God, I've killed my parents." He was the reason that they went out in the first place. He was the one who, like the selfish brat he was, demanded that they go get him his favorite book from church were he left it. He could have waited until morning but no, he wanted the book now. 'Look where that got you', he thought bitterly. 

The next thing he knew, there was a knock at the door, and he was standing up, walking to the door, and opening it to see what he presumed to be social services standing there with stoic expressions on their faces. 

"Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr sir?" The tall one with a mustache asked. 

After a couple of moments of awkward silence where Aaron was processing what the person had said, he replied, his mother's teachings still ingrained into his young mind, "That depends. Who's asking?"

The workers looked surprised but quickly gathered themselves. This time, the short, long-haired women answered. "Oh, sure sir. My name is Alexis Sol, I'm from social services and I've been assigned to your case. May we come in?" 

Instead of answering, Aaron simply opened the door fully and moved aside to let them pass. As soon as they were in, he closed the door, movements still stiff and numb. 

"Err, why don't you sit down Aaron. This might take a while." The shorter one said gently as if talking to a small, scared animal, or a volcano that might explode at any moment. Aaron supposed that either of those would have been accurate metaphors. 

"As you probably are aware, your parents passed away earlier this evening due to injuries sustained from a car crash. Unfortunately, this puts us in a difficult position, seeing as you don't have any other family members that are able to take you in. We did a bit of research and found that there are also no close friends that would be willing to take you in. So, we are currently trying to find an emergency placement for you until morning, when we'll have a more permanent placement. Now, if you could go pack up all your stuff while we're waiting, then we'll just be in this room right here in case you need anything." She smiled at him as she said that last part like telling him to go pack up all his possessions cause his mom was dead was something to smile about. 

\-------

Crying, Aaron decided to pull his gaze away from the window and instead stare at the floor, trying but failing to hold back the tears and memories. 

The next thing he remembers was his first foster house. He remembers riding in this exact car, still mourning, but also a bit excited at the prospect of a new life. How naive he was back then. He remembers pulling up into the driveway of the house, remembers thinking that it was a small house, smaller than he was used to, but he could manage. A week later, he got hit for the first time. 

It was for talking back. Talking too much. Never shutting up. Sharing his opinion where it wasn't wanted. Whatever you wanted to call it, the idea was the same, he talked too much. Too loudly. Too boldly. Had too many opinions and too many words. 

The hits, they started out small. Just a slap of the wrist or a kick to the shin here and there. Then those hits turned to slaps, and those slaps turned to punches. Soon Aaron was spending his spare change on cheap drugstore makeup instead of new books or pieces of candy. Soon his free time was spent learning how to hide, how to cover up bruises, how to clean up cuts and scrapes and how to lie. 

There was always a reason. Always. Either he talked back, or he tried to steal food, or he was late on his curfew. There was always a reason, so it wasn't abuse, it was just punishment. Right? 

At least, that's what he told himself when he cleaned up the cuts and when he covered up the bruises. Every lie he told, every smile he faked, it was all because he wasn't being abused, he was being punished. If he was being abused then he'd get help. Abused people got help. They were victims. And Aaron was a lot of things, but he wasn't a victim. 

Eventually, though, they went too far. They were hitting him, kicking him, and he fell, but the hits just kept coming. One particular kick to his ribs and he felt something wasn't right. Another and another to that same spot and then he heard a crack. No. Not heard it. Felt it. It was like someone had lit a fire right where his ribs were, and that fire was spreading all across his stomach and back and everywhere and god it hurt! 

Crying out, he started crying and screaming. But even though something was clearly wrong, the kicks just kept coming. In fact, they were harder too. "Shut up!!" They screamed at him as the kicks and punches just kept coming. 

But he couldn't stop. He couldn't talk, move, think. All he knew was pain.

Apparently, his foster parents weren't the only ones who heard his screams. The neighbors did too. And once they heard his foster parents shouts, they called the police. He got taken to the hospital, his ribs were fixed and he was soon discharged and taken to another foster home, never to be taken back there again. 

The next few houses were the same. Meet them, they all play nice, then, when they figure out that he won't shut up, that he gets into fights, that he won't follow their stupid rules, they start to hit him. One particular house would not only hit him but would hit the other, younger kids too. So he would volunteer himself. Make them angrier at him so that they would hit him instead. 

He was good at that, making people mad at him. It was easy, once you knew how. And with a mouth like his that never shut up and an attitude on top of that, well, it was a miracle that they hadn't hit him sooner. 

Then, once the stupid social workers finally caught on, he would be taken and moved to a different house. The cycle continued on and on until one house. 

Logan's house. 

He didn't have friends while at the foster homes. It was easier that way. For all the involved parties. But he didn't reach out to Logan, Logan reached out to him. While all the other kids would avoid him like the plague, Logan would seek him out. 

So he and Logan formed a shaky friendship. That friendship turned to something more. It crept up on him until he couldn't deny it any longer, he thought of Logan as family. As a little brother. 

But he should have known that happy things didn't last. 

It started when things are finally looking up. He was still getting hit, still taking Logan's hits, but he was going to school, he had Logan, and he was as close to happy as he had been in a long time. 

But then one day, as he was staying late after school to finish a project, he got a call from Logan. 

He never got calls from Logan. 

The only reason he had Logan's contact in his phone was so that if he was ever in danger, ever, then he could call and Aaron would be there. 

Instantly, he picked up. 

"A-Aaron. H-help." Those two words were all that was said before the line went dead. 

Immediately Aaron was up on his feet, his backpack and school supplies forgotten as he rushed home. 

As soon as he got into his neighborhood, he knew something was wrong. There were police cars at his house. 

He ran even faster if that was possible, reaching the house in record speed and flinging open the door. What he saw was something that he would never forget. 

Logan was lying there, covered in bruises and blood, bones sticking out, dead still. 

Dead. 

Logan was dead. 

\----  
That, Aaron thought bitterly, brought his death count to a grand total of three. Three more than it should have been. 

After that day, he didn't get attached. 

Didn't talk. 

Didn't fight back. 

That was the day that he decided to talk less, smile more. To not let them know what he was against or what he was for. 

Logan, he decided, would be the last. The last person dead because of him. 

He wouldn't get attached, he wouldn't get too close, because he was a curse, a plague, poisonous. Everybody, everything that got too close to him died. So he would stop them before it was too late. 

He would save them from him. 

Even if it killed him. Even if he wished, hoped, that someone would come along and break that curse. But he was too smart to believe that. He was too smart for wishes. Too damaged for hope. Too...

Just too Aaron. 

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he realized that they had arrived at the house. 

His first thought was that it was massive. Gigantic. Huge. The mansion was probably bigger than even his parent's mansion, and that was pretty big. 

The second thing he noticed was that there was a large gate surrounding the place. Gates. Gates were not okay. Gates meant that it was harder to run. Harder to escape. Gates meant that there was something to hide, something to keep locked up. Gates meant that he was trapped. He didn't like gates. 

Gathering his small bag of possessions and getting out of the car, he plastered his classic fake smile on his face. The smile that hid the bruises. The smile that he saved for when people came asking questions. The smile that he wore while around adults. The smile that he wore when meeting new foster parents, like now. 

He walked forward, following his social worker and trying to hide a slight limp he gained from his last foster house. 

When they got to the door, the social worker, Alexis, knocked.

The door swung open and a tall man with dark skin and a shorter woman Aaron presumed to be his wife stood there. 

"Hello." His caseworker, said in a bored, monotone voice. "This is Aaron. Aaron Burr. Here are his file and medical information. If you have any questions or concerns you can contact me using this number." And with that, she was gone, leaving Aaron standing alone awkwardly on the doorstep. 

"Hello, son. My name is George Washington and this is my wife Martha. Why don't you come inside?" The tall man, George said, opening the door further and moving aside to let him in. 

Aaron hesitantly stepped inside, allowing himself to hope, for once in his life, that this would be the last house. That he would be done. That he wouldn't have to run and hide anymore. 

He hoped that, for once, he would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Good day/night/whatever. Leave a kudos or comment or whatever if you liked it. Or don't, that's okay too. Um... Next chapter will probably be like Lafayette's P.O.V. or someone else's. Idk right now. Bye.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed that. Um..leave a comment or kudos or whatever if you did. Or don't, that's good too. Uh, good night, or day, depending on when you read this.
> 
> Also, um, as you can see, this is not a one shot. So I don't know when I'll update, but I'll try to soon. The next chapter will either be a continuation of Aaron's P.O.V. and more into his past or Alex's P.O.V. Idk right now. Um. Bye...


End file.
